Brothers
by That Creative One
Summary: All the Amis are like brothers. So when Feuilly gets sick, his brothers help him. (Cue sickfic fluff because I've been craving Feuilly like a pregnant woman craves food. Bahore/Feuilly/Combeferre brotherfriendship, but mainly Bahorel/Feuilly. Please R&R!)
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello! I am going through a major Feuilly phase right now and my talent lies in writing Bahorel/Feuilly brothership and h/c so what better to do than a Feuilly sickfic? This branches off of a couple chapters in You've Got to be Kidding me, so I decided to make it an arc here. Please R&R, and thanks for reading!_

CHAPTER 26

Feuilly should not have come to work today. Even he knew that, but the three francs he earned with his job as a fan-maker barely kept him alive, so he began picking up odd jobs around town, pulling double- or even triple-shifts per night, and it still wasn't enough for him to buy himself new clothing, so he stuck with the thread-bare, hole-riddled clothing he had now. And because of that, he got sick during the winter all the time. And he didn't do himself any favors by working through it. So he told himself he had to simply get through the day, get a couple of fans done tonight, and then he could rest. But that didn't make the six hours at the library he was working at seem any more pleasant.

Since he had woken up, he had been coughing hard enough to leave him light-headed and blown his nose repeatedly, and at the library, people were trying to read and study so he had to at least try to be quiet; Feuilly would have to go to the staff room whenever he felt a cough coming. People were beginning to give him concerned glances every now and then, so Feuilly figured he probably looked like death. Feuilly walked to the staff bathroom and a quick glance in the mirror confirmed he looked as horrible as he felt. He was pale, his eyes were rimmed with pink, and his nose was red and runny. Feuilly turned on the faucet and rubbed cold water on his face; it felt absurdly good.

Just as Feuilly came out of the bathroom, he saw his boss walking towards him. "Feuilly," He said, "I've been looking for you." Feuilly nodded hastily and his boss continued, "I think you should take the day off. Before you protest, you're clearly ill and you have to rest."

"Monsieur, I'm fine I assure you…" Feuilly started to say, but broke off coughing into his arm.

"Yes, you sound fine to me," His boss joked lightly. "But you must go home, get some rest."

_I have to stay, _Feuilly wanted to protest. He stared at the floor and stammered, "I-I need the money, Monsieur…" He trailed off, blushing shamefully.

And for years to come, Feuilly would count this man as one of the most compassionate and understanding men he had ever met. "I understand," His boss said quietly. "You'll get paid in full for your perseverance." He smiled and patted Feuilly on the back, who returned the smile and began to leave. Down the hallway he could hear his boss threaten good-naturedly, "Don't even _think_ of showing up until you're better."

Feuilly smiled back at him and left the library. Once he was outside, he pulled out his phone and texted Bahorel to pick him up. After a few minutes, Bahorel's black truck showed up, and Feuilly climbed in the shotgun seat. "Everything alright?" Bahorel asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine." Feuilly said.

Bahorel rolled his eyes. "You sound lovely." He smirked, and Feuilly punched him in the arm. "Not while I'm driving, kid!" He said and purposely swerved into the next lane, causing some people to honk at him.

"You're gonna get us pulled over," Feuilly snickered. "And quit calling me kid. I've got a name, you know." He coughed slightly.

"Sure thing, kid." Bahorel said. After driving in silence for a few minutes, they pulled up at their shared falling-apart flat. They walked inside, and Feuilly collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic groan. "What do you want to do?" Bahorel asked, flipping on the television and sitting next to Feuilly.

Feuilly considered his options and said, "Die?"

Bahorel snorted. "Enj would be pretty pissed at me if I let our only trilingual member kick the hypothetical bucket." He said. Indeed, Feuilly could speak fluent English, French, and Polish.

The redhead would have responded, but started coughing again. Bahorel winced at the sound. "Dang, you sound horrible." He said, earning a glare from Feuilly.

"You're such a nice person," Feuilly said hoarsely. Bahorel smirked and punched him in the arm, playfully. The two communicated by hitting each other like other people communicated with their hands or facial expressions. It was rather odd, but it worked for them.

"You feel really hot. Even from here I can tell you have a fever." Bahorel said, indicating the space between the two. "I should probably call Combeferre. Or Joly."

Feuilly groaned. "No, I don't have the energy to let Joly be a hypochondriac over me. It's just a cold, so simply let me die in peace, will you?"

"You're being a hypocrite, you know? 'It's just a cold, so simply let me die in peace'? That contradicts itself quite a bit." Bahorel replied, and the only response he got was a loud, dramatic groan. "I'm going to call Combeferre."

"Why?" Feuilly whined, closing his eyes. "I have a headache and the last thing I want is more people talking."

"No one's talking here except for me and you," Bahorel noted, pulling out his phone and texting Combeferre.

"Exactly," Feuilly said exasperatedly. He then paused and said, "Wait, that made no sense."

Bahorel socked him in the arm and said, "See, I was right."

"Bahorel keeps punching me," Feuilly said to no one in particular, which made Bahorel laugh loudly. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"It's open," Bahorel shouted at the door, which opened to reveal Combeferre.

"Hey," the medical student said. "How's Feuilly?"

"Feuilly is right here," The redhead said. "I'm still in the room."

"I apologize," Combeferre smiled, and then said, "Bless you."

"What?" Feuilly frowned, confused. "I didn't-" He started to say, but broke off and sneezed loudly.

Bahorel laughed and Combeferre smirked, while Feuilly looked just confused. Combeferre walked over and put a hand on Feuilly's forehead. "So how are you feeling?"

"Crappy," Feuilly replied. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, which made Combeferre frown disapprovingly. "What?"

"That's really unsanitary," Combeferre said, and pulled a packed of tissues out of his medical bag, tossing them to Feuilly.

"How much crap do you tote around in that thing?" Bahorel asked in amazement. Combeferre frowned disapprovingly at _him, _and started to reply, but Bahorel interjected. "I take it back; I actually _don't_ want to know, because you're going to write me an essay on it." He deadpanned, which made Feuilly snicker.

"So are you going to check me out or argue with Bahorel?" Feuilly asked, pausing to blow his nose. "Because I really want to sleep."

Combeferre smiled and said, "Have you taken your temperature?" Feuilly shook his head.

"Don't own a thermometer." He said, sniffling.

Combeferre nodded and pulled a disposable thermometer out of his medical bag. He took Feuilly's temperature and said, "100.9, not bad." He then paused and said, "I'm not really sure what else I can do…"

"Actually, I texted you because we don't have any medicine and I'm sure you have some in your magical bag of medical crap," Bahorel said. Combeferre sighed and dug through the bag a bit before coming up with a small bottle of liquid.

"This is actually all I have," Combeferre said, tossing the bottle to Bahorel, "But it'll be enough for a couple of days." To Feuilly he said, "It'll help bring your fever down and help with your nose and your cough."

Feuilly nodded and said, "Can I please sleep now?" He abruptly started sneezing into the crumpled tissue he held.

"Get plenty of rest, drink lots of fluids, and take the medicine once every six hours as needed," Combeferre said and turned towards the door.

"Wait a second," Feuilly said, and Combeferre turned to him. "Earlier, how did you do that thing where you knew I was going to sneeze?"

Combeferre smiled and simply said, "Doctor's skill." And left.

Bahorel and Feuilly exchanged confused glances and shrugged. Feuilly sneezed again, and Bahorel said, "I'm not sure if I should say 'bless you' or not…"

"Why?" Feuilly asked, still sniffling.

"Because your sneeze sounds like a cough," Bahorel said, making Feuilly roll his eyes. He went into the kitchen and returned with a couple cans of beer. He tossed one to the redhead, who set it down with distaste.

"I'm already sick, I don't need a hangover too," Feuilly said.

Bahorel rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, kid." He said and popped the tab on his own can.

"My name is not _kid,_" Feuilly glared at Bahorel.

Bahorel shrugged. "I'll just call you Rudolph then, since your nose is redder than your hair." He said indifferently.

'Rudolph' continued to glower at Bahorel, but its effectiveness was undermined by the coughing fit that interrupted it.

"I feel like someone filled my lungs with something wet and hot," Feuilly groaned, "And it feels disgusting."

"Thanks for those mental images," Bahorel said. He flipped on a football game, and started shouting at the players on screen.

"Can you please shut up?" Feuilly whined. "I have a headache." He got caught in another sneezing fit and blew his already-red nose, irritating the skin further.

Completely expecting a wry comment in response, Feuilly was surprised when Bahorel glanced at him sympathetically and turned the game down. Bahorel sat down next to the redhead and handed him the bottle of medicine. Feuilly made no objections and drank a mouthful of the purple liquid straight from the bottle. "Careful, Combeferre would be pretty ticked at me if I got you stoned on cold medicine," Bahorel said.

Feuilly smirked faintly and lay back on the arm of the couch with his eyes closed. The two sat contentedly- or, at least Bahorel did, because Feuilly was trying to rest, but just as he was about to fall asleep, a coughing or sneezing fit would rudely interrupt him- for the next hour, watching the game. The silence was broken when Bahorel said, "Bless you."

Feuilly opened his eyes and said, "You're not Combeferre, it won't work…" But he trailed off and sneezed twice. He stared at Bahorel and simply said, "How?"

Bahorel smirked and said, "Your eyebrow twitches a bit right before you sneeze." He leaned forward and poked Feuilly right above his left eyebrow.

"I hate you," Feuilly muttered sleepily and punched Bahorel in the ribs.

"I hate you too," Bahorel smirked. "Get better soon, mon ami."

END


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I…I am so sorry. I couldn't help it, I am still stuck in Feuilly mode xD Stagepageandscreen, I swear by the stars you will get your request chapter next but I really wanted some more Bahorel/Feuilly brothership. Not even sure if that's a legit word, so brother/friendship :) Here you go!

CHAPTER 27

Feuilly blinked sleepily, sitting up slowly. He had fallen asleep against Bahorel, who had fallen asleep as well. He felt worse than he had earlier, adding soreness and fatigue to his list of symptoms. Bahorel sat up as well and stretched, cracking his back several times. "Hey kid," He greeted his flatmate. "Any better?"

"No," Feuilly muttered. "Still crappy."

Bahorel frowned and pressed his hand against Feuilly's forehead. "Dang, you're hot." He said, drawing back his hand.

"Thanks," Feuilly smirked before descending into a coughing fit.

"No, your fever spiked." Bahorel said. He glanced around the room and at the table before saying, "I think we threw out the disposable thermometer." Bahorel pulled out his phone again and dialed a number. "Hey 'Ferre…yeah, it's me. He's fine, but his fever spiked and we don't have a thermometer…must've thrown it away or something." There was a pause before Bahorel said, "Yeah, that's fine. I'll be over in about ten minutes, okay? Thanks, bye." He set the phone down. "Combeferre wants us to come to his place so he can keep an eye on your fever, and since I know less than nothing about health and all that crap."

Feuilly nodded and stood up along with Bahorel. He got his threadbare coat and tried to put it on, but fever weakened his limbs and his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't do the buttons. Bahorel noticed, and without a word swiftly helped Feuilly with the jacket. Ironically, Feuilly didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed. They were brothers, and brothers helped each other.

Ten minutes later found them at Combeferre's flat, a thermometer in Feuilly's mouth and said medical student being a mother hen. "102.6, you really went up. If it gets any higher, we may have to go to a h- doctor," Combeferre finished carefully, remembering the redhead's fear of hospitals.

"I'm out of medicine, so I'll have to get some." Combeferre said and grabbed his keys. "There's some soup in the pantry, can I trust you guys to make it without blowing the house up?"

Bahorel snorted. "You say that like we're some irresponsible college students or something." He said sarcastically.

"You _are _irresponsible college students," Combeferre said. "Back in a few," He said and left.

"'Back in a few,'" Bahorel mimicked. "Who actually says that?" He paused a heartbeat before saying, "Bless you."

A second later, Feuilly sneezed. "I hate when you do that," He said and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie.

Bahorel smirked and said, "What can I say? I'm magical." He got up and walked into the kitchen, presumably to make the soup.

A few minutes later, Combeferre walked in with a small plastic bag. "I'm back," He said, taking off his coat and taking the medicine bottle out of the bag.

"Yes, I've noticed." Feuilly said. Combeferre gave him a '_very-clever' _look and tossed him the bottle.

"Wait to take that until you've eaten something or it'll upset your stomach." Combeferre instructed and walked into the kitchen. He walked back out with a small bowl of steaming liquid, which he handed to Feuilly. He then said something about getting a medical report and went into his bedroom.

The redhead frowned at the bowl. "It may just be the fever, but I am fairly sure chicken soup is not orange." He said, stirring the carrot-colored liquid with the spoon.

"That's hot sauce." Bahorel said. "It'll help."

Feuilly frowned at him skeptically, and took a bite. It was actually very good, and he quickly devoured the small amount of soup. How it helped his cold, however, was a mystery to him. "How was it?" Bahorel asked.

"It tasted fine, but it's making my nose run like crazy." Feuilly said, sniffling.

"Yeah, it does that." Bahorel said in a casual, almost airy tone, as if he couldn't care less; but that's Bahorel for you.

Feuilly blew his nose loudly and glared at Bahorel. "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate you?" He asked, and despite sounding serious, Bahorel knew he was joking.

"It might've come up from time to time," Bahorel smirked as he walked back into the kitchen. Combeferre came out with a thin stack of reports.

"Have you eaten?" He asked.

"Yeah, but Bahorel gabe me this spicy grap and it's baking by dose run," Feuilly pouted from behind a tissue and Combeferre laughed.

"Spicy foods are actually very good for colds. They open up the sinuses and help clear out the infection quicker." Combeferre said.

"Well, it's working," Feuilly said and blew his nose again; his nose had turned scarlet but his voice was clear again.

Bahorel walked back in and sat down next to Feuilly, who curled up into his side. "No, you're gonna get me infected," Bahorel said and elbowed the redhead off of him.

Feuilly sighed. "You are one of the most irritating people the earth has ever been graced with." He said decisively and punched Bahorel, who returned the hit by shoving Feuilly off the couch. "You're so mean," he whined, which made Bahorel smirk contentedly.

"No roughhousing when you're sick," Combeferre gave the two a strict look over the top of his glasses.

"Yes, Mother." Bahorel said, earning himself a laugh from Feuilly, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. He covered his mouth with his hand, but it didn't do much to muffle the loud, painful coughs racking his body. His eyes were streaming by the end and his breathing was ragged.

"Are you alright?" Combeferre asked with concern?

"Yeah, fine," Feuilly said, although his throat felt raw. Clearly not convinced, Combeferre stood up and left the room, returning a few moments later with the thermometer. Feuilly obligingly let Combeferre take his temperature, though he couldn't see how it would have changed that much.

"102.7," Combeferre said.

"Alright, so it's gone up a tenth of a degree. Not a major problem?" Feuilly asked, and Combeferre frowned at the thermometer, considering his options.

"No," He said finally, "But you have to take some medicine." The medical student took the plastic medicine bottle Feuilly had put on the table and measured some into the small cup inside the cap and gave it to him. The redhead took it without a second thought and stretched out of his back, resting his legs over Bahorel's.

"Bless you," Bahorel smirked. Feuilly glared at him for a heartbeat before sneezing into the crook of his arm.

"You seriously need to stop doing that," Feuilly said.

Combeferre clearly wasn't paying attention; he was lost in one of his reports, frowning confusedly. "Bahorel, could you grab me the medical book on my bedside table?" He asked, flipping through a couple pages.

"I will," Feuilly said. Combeferre was offering to care for him and the least he could do was help him out a little.

"Thanks, Feuilly," Combeferre said with a smile. Feuilly returned the smile and walked out of the room. From the front room, Bahorel and Combeferre could hear a loud sneeze, a thump, and a high-pitched "_Ow"._ The two rushed down the hallway, where Feuilly was sitting in a rather awkward position, his hand against his head. "What happened?" Combeferre asked.

"I don't really know…I sneezed, but I tripped and hit my head on the wall…"The redhead said, and Bahorel burst out laughing.

"Holy crap, Feuilly," He gasped, "That took skill, bro." Combeferre was laughing as well, despite Feuilly's offended look. The medical student helped him up.

"I think you should rest, mon ami," He smiled, and helped Feuilly back onto the couch. After a couple minutes, he said, "Bless you."

The only response he got was a glare and a sneeze.

END

My endings always suck…*sigh*


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hi again :) By the way, I didn't edit the author's note last chapter, it was meant for one of my other stories. Whoops! But here is some more fluff for you! ;)

CHAPTER THREE

"Feuilly, you're sick!" Combeferre cried in exasperation. "You can't go to the meeting." He gave the redhead a stern look. "You have to rest-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Feuilly interrupted. With a defiant yet pleading expression, he said, "I've been on this couch practically for the past two days. I think I've rested enough."

"You'll get other people sick," Combeferre said. "And your fever is still really high."

Feuilly opened his mouth to protest, but Bahorel cut him off. "Let him go," He said with a shrug. "If I were him, I'd want to move around a bit too." Feuilly shot Bahorel a thankful glance.

Combeferre sighed. It was two against one, and he knew there was no way he was going to win this. "Fine," He said, "But we're coming right back here afterwards, alright?"

"Where else would we go?" Feuilly asked, standing up. When he stood, Combeferre could see he was shaking slightly and frowned.

Ten minutes later, Combeferre, Bahorel, and Feuilly were seated in the back of the Musain, listening to Enjolras talk. Feuilly tried to stay quiet, but after one particularly bad coughing fit, the Amis began giving him concerned glances every now and then, including Enjolras. Thankfully the coughing seemed to abate after that, but Feuilly still got the sense people were only half-paying attention to what Enjolras was saying. So when he felt a familiar itch at the back of his nose, he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to make any noise.

After a while, Combeferre, who was sitting next to him, saw Feuilly pinching the bridge of his nose and staring at the ground and muttered, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," The redhead whispered back.

"Then what exactly are you doing?" The medical student said under his breath.

"I've had to sneeze for the past ten minutes."

"And why haven't you?"

"Because it disrupts the meeting." Combeferre didn't necessarily agree with Feuilly's response, but gave him a sympathetic look nonetheless and told him the meeting would be over in about a minute. The fanmaker nodded.

And a minute later, all of the people in the second level were flooding out, except for a few who were talking with Enjolras about next week's meeting. Feuilly sneezed into the crook of his arm so hard he nearly fell off his chair, which made Bahorel laugh. "Shut up," he muttered.

Combeferre gave Bahorel a lay-off look and said, "Let's go home, get you some medicine, and then you need to rest." He glanced at the redhead in time to see him wiping his nose on his sleeve and said, "I've already told you that's really unsanitary." He reached into his pockets, but his fingers only brushed fabric. "I should've brought some tissues, that was bad planning on my part- quit using your sleeve!" The medical student lightly slapped Feuilly's arm away from his face and noticed he was wearing the same blue hoodie he was yesterday, and it would seriously need to be washed.

Feuilly shook his head slightly. "Let's just go." He muttered, looking away.

Combeferre frowned, suddenly worried. "Feuilly, what's wrong?"

The redhead blinked abruptly, as if snapped out of a trance. "Nothing, I'm just really tired. Must've zoned out for a second." He said. Indeed, Combeferre could see the dark circles etched under Feuilly's eyes and realized that while he may not have been actively moving for the past two days, he hadn't been sleeping, either.

"Alright," Combeferre nodded. "Let's go, then." He motioned for Bahorel, who had been chatting with someone else. The three went over to Bahorel's truck, with Bahorel driving, Combeferre in the passenger seat, and Feuilly curled up in the back. When they arrive back at Combeferre's flat, Bahorel turns and sees that Feuilly has fallen asleep in the back.

Quietly to Combeferre, he murmurs, "Should I wake him or…"

"No," Combeferre says in an equally quiet voice. "Let him sleep."

Bahorel nods and slips out of the car quietly. He opens the door and unbuckles the seatbelt, then scoops Feuilly up as if he weighs no more than a feather. Which to Bahorel, he doesn't. Feuilly doesn't eat nearly enough and is almost alarmingly light in his arms.

When they get into the flat, Bahorel lightly sets Feuilly on the couch, but it's enough to wake him up. "I fell asleep?" He murmurs, and Combeferre nods.

"You can go back to sleep soon, but you need to take some medicine and probably eat something. And I need to take your temperature." Combeferre said, earning a nod in response. In the fading light, he barely caught the almost invisible twitch of Feuilly's eyebrow and said, "Bless you."

"Is it safe-" Feuilly broke off and sneezed into the crook of his arm and wiped his nose on his sleeve (which made Combeferre glare at him) before continuing, "Is it safe to assume you two will never stop doing that?"

"Pretty safe," Bahorel smirked.

"I would punch you, but I can't reach you from here." Feuilly waved his arm lazily, and Combeferre sighed.

"You need some food and medicine." Combeferre said, and walked into the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later with a piece of toast and a bottle of medicine, which he carefully measured into a small plastic cup. He waited until Feuilly finished eating to give him the medicine, which he took cooperatively. Combeferre couldn't help but notice the redhead has started sniffling again. "Don't you dare use your sleeve," he said seriously as he handed Feuilly a couple of tissues.

"God, you make such a big deal out of it." Feuilly rolled his eyes, then made a point of wiping his nose on his sleeve simply to annoy Combeferre.

"How do you live with him?" Combeferre asked Bahorel.

Bahorel laughed and said, "Barely tolerate him."

"Hey!" Feuilly said and feigned offense, knowing his friends were just joking around. Bahorel laughed and sat down next to the redhead, and noticed he was shivering.

"Cold?" He asked, putting his arm around Feuilly's shoulders.

Feuilly nodded in response and relaxed into his friend's side. Bahorel could feel how hot his friend was and mouthed check his temperature to Combeferre, who nodded. He produced a thermometer from somewhere and said, "Time to take your temperature."

The redhead gave an irritated sigh and sat up, but let Combeferre take his temperature anyways."102.4, it's dropped a tiny bit. The medicine should kick in and help lower it." He said. Feuilly nodded, already half asleep. Combeferre smiled slightly, because Bahorel looked utterly uncomfortable with the armful of sick Feuilly curled up against him; comforting people was not his forte, and he didn't 'cuddle' either.

"Get better soon, mon ami." Both Combeferre and Bahorel said that at the same time, and they glanced up at each other with slightly disturbed but impressed looks.

"Alright, that was just creepy." Bahorel said.

TBC!  
Bad ending -_- Again _-_ I am sorry about that. But pleasepleaseplease R&R, it means a lot to me. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry about the update gap! But I'm back now. Just as a disclaimer, all medical information used in this fic is courtesy of WebMD (which is, ironically, where I go for inspiration to write XDD) However when I read about bronchitis and all that- anything ending with '-itis' is not a good thing in my book and, I can't be that mean to Feuilly :3 So no actual 'diseases'. Please review and thanks for reading!

CHAPTER FOUR

Combeferre frowned. "I really don't like the sound of that," He said as Feuilly started coughing again. Since Feuilly had woken up, his coughing had gotten progressively worse and was starting to seriously worry Combeferre. Every time he coughed, Combeferre was practically reaching for his phone to call Joly, but Feuilly would insist (in a very hoarse voice) not to bother him, that he was fine, etc. The medical student was having none of it.

Combeferre stepped into a different room and pulled out his phone. "Hey, Joly, it's me…"

"Hi, 'Ferre," Joly's voice replied on the other end. "Is Feuilly alright?"

"Yeah, I'm actually calling about him…" Combeferre paused as he listened to Feuilly cough in the front room. "His coughing has gotten way worse."  
"Oh." Joly's voice immediately became very serious. "Well, what does it sound like?"

"Um, just really deep, loud, hacking coughs. Sounds like it's coming from his chest." Combeferre replied. "I just want to make sure it isn't-"

"-Pneumonia." Joly finished the sentence for him. "Is the cough productive?"

"Not to my knowledge," Combeferre stepped back into the front room. "What are some common symptoms of pneumonia?"

"...Well, you said he has a cold, right?" Joly asked. Combeferre nodded, momentarily forgetting Joly couldn't see him. "'Ferre?"

"Oh, sorry. Yes, he has a cold. His fever dropped to 102 on the dot yesterday night."

There was a pause on the other end. "Well, here are the symptoms he shouldn't have if he only has a cold: faster heartbeat, shortness of breath, possibly confusion, nausea or vomiting, and chest pain."

"One moment, I'm going to take his pulse." Combeferre said and set the phone down. He walked over to Feuilly, who was looking at him with confusion.

"What was that all about?" Feuilly asked hoarsely, watching as Combeferre took his arm. The medical student frowned and shushed him as he concentrated on Feuilly's pulse. After a minute, he dropped Feuilly's arm, and began interrogating him:

"Are you short of breath, confused, or nauseous?"

"No."

"Any chest pain?"

"Only when I cough." Feuilly said.

Combeferre nodded and picked up the phone again. "His heart rate is normal and he doesn't have any pneumonia symptoms, except for the chest pain...he said it was only when he coughs." There was a pause. "I agree...you can never be too sure. Thanks Joly, I'll send the sample in tomorrow if I can. Yeah. Bye," Combeferre hung up and turned to Feuilly.

"Sample of what?" Feuilly asked suspiciously.

"Something for a project Joly's working on," Combeferre replied nonchalantly. "Try to get some rest, okay?"

The redhead gave Combeferre another suspicious glance, but was interrupted by another sneezing fit. He silently accepted the box of tissues Combeferre passed him. "Where's Bahorel?" He asked after blowing his nose.

"Gym? Bar? Who knows?" Combeferre replied with a shrug. "I've got some reports to look over, do you think you can get some rest?"

Feuilly nodded, and the medical student smiled before disappearing into his room and trying to focus on the paperwork in front of him.

A couple hours later, Combeferre crept silently into the front room, armed with a syringe. He could already feel the guilt building at what he was about to do; Joly had asked for a blood sample to test for pneumonia, and Combeferre knew there was no way he could get blood from Feuilly without causing him to throw up, pass out, or have a panic attack. Which left him one option- to get the blood when Feuilly was asleep.

Combeferre had to stop for a moment and just admire how adorable Feuilly looked, passed out on the couch. He was back with one arm across his stomach, facing slightly sideways, a crumpled tissue still clutched in his other hand, and practically shrinking back into the couch. His unbrushed red hair fell over his forehead in a way that made him seem years younger and he looked more relaxed than he had in days.

Silently, the medical student rolled up the sleeve of Feuilly's hoodie and with a quick, practiced motion, took a syringe full of blood from the redhead's inner elbow. Feuilly didn't stir even the slightest. Combeferre laid his arm back over his stomach and quickly wrote a note saying he was meeting Joly at the hospital, and left.

A ten-minute car ride later, Combeferre was talking with Joly about the chances of Feuilly having pneumonia. Joly promised the blood test results would come back the next day, and he would send any necessary antibiotics as well.

When the medical student arrived back at his flat, he walked in quietly in case Feuilly was still asleep. Bahorel was still away, and Feuilly was awake- still looking tired, but awake. "Hey, 'Ferre." He whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

Combeferre frowned at the sound of his voice. "How do you feel?" He asked.

"Awful," Feuilly whispered raspily. He was shivering visibly, but his forehead was damp with sweat, and Combeferre could tell simply from the slight frown on his face that the redhead probably had a headache. He started coughing again, leaning forwards slightly, covering his mouth with his hand. The medical student cringed at the sound of it, and he could see Bahorel step out of the kitchen with a concerned look. The coughing fit lasted nearly a minute, each breathe Feuilly took being painfully ripped out just as quickly. Just as he stopped, he coughed once more, jerking forwards slightly. He paused for a moment and swallowed hard, and only then removed his hand from his mouth.

"Did you just cough something up?" Combeferre asked, frowning.

Feuilly nodded, swallowing again and leaning back, looking positively miserable.

"Next time you cough something up, don't swallow it, because then you're letting it back in your body. Spit it out next time."

In response, Feuilly moaned and buried his face in a pillow. Combeferre felt his heart burn with sympathy for his friend, and gently draped a blanket over his shivering figure. However, the medical student couldn't stop the worry growing at the back of his mind. Feuilly's fever was still pretty high for just a cold, and he normally would have gotten better by now. All he could do was pray the redhead didn't have pneumonia.

Feuilly woke up feeling like he got hit by a truck. He was incredibly sore and felt so weak he couldn't even sit up. He was shivering despite the fact he was sticky with sweat and it felt incredibly disgusting, making him long for a hot shower. His head was throbbing still, in addition to his runny nose and incredibly sore throat.

Combeferre glanced up from the armchair he was situated in, an open book in his lap. "Good morning," He greeted Feuilly, who smiled weakly in response. "Feeling any better?"

"Worse," The redhead moaned, coughing slightly. Combeferre stood up and grabbed the thermometer off the table. "I think it's pretty obvious I have a fever, why do you even bother-" Feuilly was rudely interrupted by the medical student shoving the thermometer in his mouth.

"I take it to make sure it hasn't gotten too high," Combeferre answered Feuilly's unfinished question and took the thermometer out. "102.3," He read with a frown. "I want to get it below 102, so you'll have to take some medicine."

Combeferre walked into the kitchen and came back out with a couple of pills, a piece of toast, and tea. Feuilly frowned when he saw the food, but before he could object, Combeferre said, "You have to eat something, or at least drink. You're probably getting dehydrated."

Feuilly sighed but didn't actively object, so Combeferre set the plate of toast on his lap and watched him as he ate half of it. "Can you eat any more?"

Feuilly shook his head. "I'm just not hungry." He said, closing his eyes.

"Headache?" Combeferre asked.

He nodded tiredly, and Combeferre went into the kitchen again. When he came back, he had a damp, cool cloth, which he laid across Feuilly's forehead. Said fanmaker sighed with pleasure.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Combeferre opened his flat door to see Joly with a bottle of pills and a sheet of paper. "Hi Joly," Feuilly greeted him.

"Hey, Feuilly, how are you feeling?" Joly inquired.

Feuilly responded by sneezing twice, and Joly frowned with sympathy. "Pretty awful, I take it?" The redhead nodded, sniffling wetly.

"Joly," Combeferre said in a low voice, pulling the hypochondriac aside. "What were the results?"

Joly smiled at the medical student. "He doesn't have pneumonia, but he does have a slight chest infection.

Combeferre sighed with relief. "So, I assume those are antibiotics are for the infection?" He asked, gesturing to the pills.

"Yeah. He should take one every six hours, it'll help with the fever and cough."

"What's that?" Feuilly asked, looking confused. Combeferre turned to him and said. "I- I took some of your blood for a pneumonia test, since I was concerned about your cough."

"Wait, you-" Feuilly rolled up his sleeve. Indeed, there was a bruise on his inner elbow where Combeferre had drawn the blood. "You took my blood while I was sleeping?" There was a hint of grudging admiration in his voice.

"Yes, I did. You have a chest infection." The medical student said, then turning to Joly. "Thanks for the medicine."

"No problem," Joly replied. "Just be sure to keep an eye on his fever, make sure he drinks lots of fluids-"

"Yes, I know, Joly." Combeferre said, not unkindly. The hypochondriac nodded, said goodbye to Feuilly, and left. Combeferre turned to Feuilly, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"You really drew my blood while I slept?" He asked, smirking slightly.

Combeferre nodded. "Is there anything you need?"

Feuilly shook his head. "I'm going to try to sleep, if I can without you taking blood from me."

The medical student smiled slightly and sat back down in the armchair, resuming his reading once more. Feuilly fell asleep quickly, thankfully sleeping peacefully.

Combeferre didn't realize he had fallen asleep as well until he woke up to the sound of horrible coughing. He glanced up to see Feuilly hacking into his hand. When Feuilly pulled his hand away from his mouth, his lips were colored with blood, his hand red with it. Combeferre's blood ran cold for a moment before he grabbed Feuilly's wrist and dragged him to his car, already calling Joly and driving to the hospital.

TBC  
Mwahaha suspense :D Please review and thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Combeferre was torn between trying to tell Joly about what happened to Feuilly, trying to not hit anyone or break the speed limit, and trying to calm Feuilly down. The fanmaker had gone white as a sheet and was hyperventilating.

"Joly," He said urgently as the hypochondriac picked up on the second ring. "Get to the hospital right now."

"What happened?!" Joly's voice was laced with fear. "Is it Feuilly?!"

"He started coughing up blood." The medical student said in a low voice so Feuilly wouldn't hear him.

"I'm leaving now." Joly said and the line went dead. Combeferre closed his cell phone and glanced at Feuilly.

"Feuilly," The medical student said in a low, calm voice, betraying the fear he felt inside. "Feuilly, it's going to be okay. Just take deep breaths."

"I can't, I can't," Feuilly's breathing was coming in rapid spurts and he looked like he might be sick from fear. "I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die." Combeferre said soothingly. "I promise you're not going to die. You're going to be fine."

"I'm going to die, I'm going to die," The redhead repeated to himself over and over under his breath. Combeferre could practically hear Feuilly's heart beating against his chest, probably far too quickly to be healthy. He pulled into the hospital parking lot and quickly hopped out of his car, going over to the passenger side and opening the door. Feuilly was fumbling with the seatbelt, his hands shaking so badly he could barely undo it. Combeferre helped him out and slipped his arm around Feuilly's back to support him; he was shaking like a leaf.

"Feuilly." The medical student gripped Feuilly's shoulders firmly and stared him in the eye. "You are going to be okay. Everything will be fine. I need you to take deep breaths."

The redhead nodded jerkily and tried to breathe deeply, but was still breathing quicker than Combeferre was comfortable with- if he didn't stop hyperventilating, Feuilly was going to pass out, and that would not help whatsoever.

"Good, good. Just breathe, okay?" Combeferre said, lacing him arm around Feuilly again. The two shakily made their way into the hospital, where Combeferre immediately took him into the Emergency Room waiting room, sitting him down on one of the hard plastic chairs. He then quickly went up to the reception nurse.

"Hello, how may I help you?" The nurse asked.

"My friend had a cold a couple days ago, but it turned into a chest infection and now he's coughing up blood." Combeferre said. The nurse nodded.

"I'll be right back with you," She said before disappearing behind the desk and into another room. She came back a moment later with a doctor in a lab coat and scrubs, who smiled nicely at Combeferre.

"Would you mind if I took a look at your friend?" He asked, and Combeferre nodded quickly, going back over to Feuilly and helping him up. He was still shaking, beads of sweat dripping down his face. The doctor frowned slightly when Combeferre walked back, half-carrying Feuilly. "What symptoms are you experiencing?"

Combeferre supplied the answer for him. "Regular cold symptoms, but his fever is a bit high- 102.3 last time I checked. My friend, who is in his third year of medical school, took a blood sample and got him tested for pneumonia, and the results were negative but showed he had a chest infection, but he started coughing up blood about ten minutes ago." He paused before adding, "And he's having a panic attack."

The doctor nodded seriously. "Come with me," he said, stepping out from behind the desk and going down a narrow hallway into an examination room. Feuilly sat down on the leather examining table, his face abnormally white in stark contrast to his red hair. The doctor, who introduced himself as Doctor Julien, immediately listened to Feuilly's lungs with a stethoscope. "Well," He said, hanging it back around his neck, "There's some buildup in his lungs, but I'm not sure of what. Is his cough productive?"

"Yes." Combeferre said.

"Well, then it could be phlegm, or it could be blood. Generally, when a person has phlegm built up in their lungs, their breathing is slightly wheezy sounding because of the air trying to move through the phlegm, which is too thick to move with just oxygen. But with blood, which is lighter and thinner, breathing would sound crackly as liquid moves in the lungs. From what I heard, I'm almost sure the blood isn't coming from his lungs." Doctor Julien explained. He took a medical flashlight and shined it in the back of Feuilly's throat. "Ah, here we go."

"What is it?" Combeferre asked anxiously.

"The back of his throat is bleeding." Doctor Julien said. "Excessive coughing can irritate the throat to the point where the tissue of the throat splits or cracks and bleeds. For example," Doctor Julien handed Feuilly a paper cup. "Spit into that."

Feuilly spat into the cup, and the saliva was tinged with blood. "The bleeding is coming from his throat, or the blood wouldn't be evident here since he would need to cough with more force to bring blood up from the lungs." Doctor Julien threw the cup away in the small garbage can in the corner of the room and said, "Try not to swallow the blood, it'll upset your stomach. Just spit it out- don't cough to bring it up, since that will keep the breaks in the tissue open- and your throat will heal up in a day or so." Combeferre thanked the doctor and took Feuilly out into the hallway.

"Are you okay? You've been really quiet," The medical student asked with concern. Feuilly had calmed down quite a bit during the examination, but still looked pale and shaky.

"Yeah," Feuilly said quietly. "Just relieved it wasn't something awful." He paused slightly before looking around nervously and adding, "Can we go?"

"Of course," Combeferre said hastily, momentarily forgetting how hospitals affected the artisan. He led Feuilly out of the hallway and back into the waiting room, where Bahorel and Joly were waiting for them worriedly.

"Are you okay?" Bahorel asked immediately, walking up to them, with Joly right behind him. He looked disheveled- there were dark circles under his eyes, his dark brown hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed, and one sleeve of his jacket was slipping off his shoulder. Combeferre realized that he must have dropped everything to get to the hospital- and Joly didn't look much better.

Combeferre began explaining what happened, when Joly exclaimed, "Feuilly, what's wrong?" The guide turned to see tears slowly dripping down Feuilly's face.

Feuilly nodded silently, but they were having none of it. As if by unspoken agreement, Bahorel opened his arms and Feuilly fell into them (not literally), crying softly into the brawler's shoulder. Joly murmured comforting things to him and Combeferre rubbed his back soothingly. They could hear him say quietly, "I was just so scared.", followed by more tears. After a couple minutes, Feuilly broke away, and Combeferre realized people were staring at them sadly. Bahorel noticed as well, and muttered to Feuilly, "They all probably think you have a terminal illness or something."

Feuilly laughed weakly, and glanced down at the ground, a slow blush spreading across his face. "I'm sorry…" He started to apologize, but Combeferre interrupted him.

"Don't be. It's just the fever." He said, and Feuilly nodded. "Let's go home now." Ten minutes later found the trio at the door of Combeferre's flat.

When Feuilly stepped into the medical student's flat, he was expecting to be told to rest. What he was not expecting was the rest of the Amis nervously pacing about. "Feuilly!" Jehan all but screamed when he saw the redhead. "Are you alright?" He looked near tears.

For a moment, Feuilly was stunned silent. Then, he asked, "What- why are you all here?"

"We heard you were in the hospital," Enjolras explained hurriedly, "And we came here to see if you were okay, but you weren't back yet."

Feuilly paused for a heartbeat before smiling. "Really? Well, thank you…that was really nice."

Jehan smiled faintly and insisted, "I've drawn my own conclusion, but I need to hear it from you. Are you okay? Like, you don't have pneumonia or lung cancer or anything like that?"

"No, no," Feuilly laughed. "Just a chest infection." The poet in front of him sighed with relief, along with the rest of the Amis.

"We were worried sick, Feuilly," Courfeyrac said seriously. "We're all so glad you're okay."

For a while, all the Amis chatted, until Feuilly was interrupted by a particularly bad coughing fit and Joly got worried about other people getting sick, so Combeferre asked everyone to leave so that Feuilly could rest. A minute later people were saying their goodbyes and leaving. Combeferre turned to Feuilly and said, "I figure you're probably sick of this question, but how do you feel?"

"Still awful," The redhead said, sitting on the couch. "But slightly better."

"That's good." The medical student said, nodding. "So, Bahorel, where were you all night?"

"At a girl's house. Well, a bar first, then the girl's house." Bahorel responded with a shrug.

"You didn't get some random drunk chick knocked up, did you?" Feuilly asked with a smirk. Combeferre gave him an exasperated look.

"Actually I have no memory of last night, I just remember waking up when 'Ferre called me." Bahorel said.

Feuilly nodded silently. He realized what it must have felt like to Bahorel, waking up in some girl's apartment, hungover, and suddenly getting a call that your best friend was in the ER, coughing up blood. Feuilly knew if he had been the one getting the call, he would have been scared out of his mind. "Thank you for taking care of me…"

"No problem," Bahorel said with a smile, deprived of all normal sarcasm, but genuine. "That's what brothers are for."  
END

Thank you for reviewing! The positive feedback has been wonderful. So I did some medical research and tried to make everything on here as accurate as possible. I was considering doing a final, fluffy filler chapter to wrap the arc up, but I realized this was kinda sufficient ending, unless you would like a final chapter. So Feuilly is okay, yay! I couldn't be mean to Feuilly! *hugs Feuilly* Please review and thanks for reading ;)


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